Act Like It
by Danzinora Switch
Summary: McCoy has had enough. Jim is a captain, not a child, and he needs to start acting like it.


**A/N: I'm not normally in the reboot universe and this will probably tell you why. Though maybe it's my own method to vent about a similar, real-life situation. Oh well. Some canon references to (2009) and Into Darkness.**

* * *

"Hey, Bones," Jim chirped as he strolled into Sickbay.

"Jim," he greeted in return. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, it's what _I_ can do for _you_," Jim sauntered closer, a charming smile on his face. "Better pack up, Bones, we're heading down to the planet below."

"Bea-47?" McCoy clarified.

"Sure, that one. The one we're orbiting." Jim turned his head slightly, watching as a nurse walked past.

McCoy whacked him with the back of his hand. "Hands off my nurses, Jim," he growled.

"Sure thing, Bones," Jim winked at him.

McCoy just rolled his eyes and packed his medkit as Jim left.

...

Of course it all went wrong. McCoy couldn't exactly say _when_ it hit the fan, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the rocks Jim had been poking at. The ones in the middle of the village. On a pedestal. Frankly, he wasn't all that surprised that the entire native population was chasing them.

"Watch out, Bones!" McCoy had no time to react before he was yanked sideways from his path and suddenly tumbling down a steep cliff with Jim. They slid to a stop and McCoy wanted to curse- there'd been nothing wrong with his original path, only that maybe the natives would've caught up with him sooner or later, but there was no reason for Jim to pull him down a _cliff-_ except that Jim was unconscious and bleeding from a gash in his head.

"_Damn_ it," he muttered. He dropped to his knees next to the captain and rummaged through his medkit. "You wonder why I pack so many hypos, Jim?" he grumbled to himself, injecting one. "It's because you're the most accident-prone individual I've ever seen."

Even better, while McCoy had lost his, Jim still had his communicator. Sighing, McCoy flipped it open, still keeping a watch for angry Indians. "McCoy to _Enterprise_, two to beam up, and prep Sickbay."

* * *

"Spock," McCoy caught the Vulcan in Sickbay, just after Kirk got out of surgery. "I need a number from you- no, more like a statistic."

"What do you require, Doctor?" Spock asked impassively. At least he had survived the little fiasco on the planet unscathed.

"We're about two years into this journey, now. I need to know- since you probably have a complete record of every second in your brain- of all the landing parties/missions that we've had, how many of those has Jim come back injured?"

Spock considered. "We have visited 94 planets as so far, and of those where the captain beamed down, he returned requiring medical assistance from 78. There have also been 65 visits to various Starbases and other Starfleet structures with 41 of those visits resulting in the captain grievously injured. All 18 encounters with hostile ships injured the captain, and two incidents with friendly ships also resulted in hospitalization, and every shore leave taken ended with medical treatment."

McCoy's eyes bugged. It was worse than he expected. "Thank you, Spock," he murmured, retreating back to the operating room.

He stared at Kirk's readings for a long time, frowning as they slowly improved. How many times has he stood here watching the panel? Too many, according to Spock. He sighed. "Why do you keep ending up here?" he muttered absently.

"Because I'm irresistible?"

McCoy started and he saw Jim looking at him from under his lashes, a grin creeping onto his face.

"More like playing games with life," McCoy groused. "It's a wonder I keep you around."

"Hey, I'm the captain here," Kirk retorted, struggling to sit up on his elbows. "Aren't I the one keeping you around?"

"Not when you're constantly on this side of the operating knife," McCoy admonished pushing him back down. "You know, with any other doctor your constant stunts would send them into cardiac arrest."

"Glad to know I have that effect on people." Kirk grimaced as he sat up, despite McCoy's warnings. "It's okay, I've got it."

"Jim, you just woke up from _surgery_," McCoy stopped him sternly. "Now _lie back down_."

Kirk waved him off. "I've got to get to the bridge, Bones."

"Like hell you are. Sit down before I make you sit down."

"_Bones…_"

"You need to rest, _Jim_."

"I'll rest in my quarters."

"No." McCoy put his foot down and stood squarely in front of the swaying man. "That bed. Lie down." He continued glaring until Kirk finally caved.

"You know, you take the fun out of everything."

"Recovery's only fun if one _follows_ _directions,_" McCoy retorted. "I don't want you moving for the next 48 hours." He knew full and well that Jim would last only half that long.

Leaving the main Sickbay ward, McCoy trooped into his office and sank into his chair with a sigh. He ached and was tired. Any day patching up the captain was a long day.

He supposed, he mused, that it was a good thing he was able to function time after time again to put Jim back together, though he still wasn't exactly sure how. There weren't many other doctors who could do that. Jim's stunts definitely put some grey hairs on his head, that's for sure, but he'd found that he could live with them, as long as Jim was alright in the end. McCoy was okay with that. He'd prefer that Jim show a little more common sense and _not_ constantly screw up, but until then he'd just continue to do his job. It was enough.

Wasn't it?

* * *

"Forgetting something, Captain?"

"No, can't think of anything, Bones." Kirk was looking everywhere but at him, an innocent smile still plastered on his face.

"Well, there's one thing, Captain," McCoy played along with the faux-convivial attitude.

"What's that?"

"The bi-annual physicals?" McCoy reminded him.

"What about them?" Kirk replied innocently.

"They're all done, except for one."

Kirk whistled. "Well, I can't imagine who the last one could be."

"Come on, Captain," McCoy grabbed his elbow roughly and started dragging him out of the rec room.

"Hey! Watch it!"

McCoy only rolled his eyes. It wasn't the first time manhandling the captain into Sickbay, and he knew damn well he wasn't using enough force to hurt.

"Sit down and take off your shirt," McCoy instructed, retrieving a PADD to catalogue the results.

"Bones, is that really necessary in this day and age? I'm pretty sure your high-tech equipment can tell you everything like _that_." Jim snapped his fingers.

McCoy's glare was lost on him. "Jim, I'm going into the next room to get my stylus," he said clearly. "When I return, I expect you to be sitting here with your shirt off."

"Whatever you say Bones," Kirk chirped all-too perkily.

Weirdly enough, when McCoy returned Kirk _was_ shirtless and sitting like the perfect schoolboy. He was cooperative throughout the entire physical, even doing extra. McCoy wondered why, but got his answer when Kirk was suddenly hesitant to leave- and to put his shirt back on.

"Nurse Cramer," he addressed politely. The redhead turned around from her station. "Yes Doctor?"

"That will be all, thank you."

"Of… course." Somewhat confused, she left the room.

"_Bones…_" Kirk started.

"I don't wanna hear it Jim," McCoy stopped him. "Not in my Sickbay."

Bullying Kirk into his physical was nothing new to McCoy. He was used to that. He was also well inundated with Jim's libido, and ability to flirt with everything on two legs (and then some). He knew that from their Academy days. McCoy was quite familiar with dragging his captain down to Sickbay and treating him for countless alien STD's. It was practically in his job prescription.

Well, not literally. But one gets the point.

* * *

"You're an idiot."

"I'm a _genius_."

"Not when you're the only one saying it."

"Bones, _everybody_ says I'm a genius."

"I don't know why I let you watch the news. It just puts megalomaniac thoughts into your head."

"I'm not a… whatever you said."

"No? You're always going on and on about how awesome you are… psychologically that indicates one heck of an ego complex."

"Don't you analyze me."

"I'm sorry, it's my job. Kind of the CMO here?"

"You know you love me."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not. Everybody loves me."

"See? There you go again."

"And also see? I didn't change the subject."

… "Damn it, Jim."

* * *

McCoy was staring deep into the nanoscopic recesses of a particular microbe they had scraped off the moon of the last planet they visited. What made it so fascinating was the fact that it was an aerobe that somehow lived in a hard vacuum. It was intriguing enough to interest Spock, and the two had poured over samples. Now, hyped up on coffee and following a breakthrough idea, he was deeply and excitedly engrossed into the research.

Except, there seemed to be some kind of buzzing sound by his ear.

"Bones? Booooones. Bones. Anyone home?"

"What, Jim?"

"Wow, you are out of it. I was asking if you wanted to go down on shore leave with me. We're at Argelius, remember?"

"Oh yeah. No, not particularly, thanks."

"But Booooones," he persuaded. "You've been cooped up in this lab for days! With Spock even! That's a sign that a man is need of shore leave if ever I saw one."

"Jim, I'm happy here, okay? Just go on without me."

"Bones, as a fellow human being, it is my civic duty to make sure you experience the phenomenon known as 'fun'."

"I am having fun. And how much time have you been spending around Spock lately?"

Jim apparently didn't hear anything beyond the first sentence. "Fun? _Fun?_ Bones, you're staring at a squishy piece of goop!"

"That 'squishy piece of goop' may very well redefine the origin of life as we know it."

"Blah, blah, shore leave, Bones. Come on!"

"I said 'no!' Jim."

"They have girls."

"I know that."

"And you'd trade them for a slime mold?"

"In a heartbeat."

…

"They have guys."

"I know that, too."

"Well, how about for me, huh?" He circled around and planted himself in front of the table. "You know something always happens on shore leave- I need my first-response medical aid!"

"Jim, if you're using _that_ as an argument, you need to look at your life."

"My life is awesome. Right now, yours is boring, but I can help you change that."

"Jim, did it ever occur to you that I actually _do_ genuinely _like_ doing this?"

"Bones, nobody likes staring for hours on end through a microscope. Except maybe Spock."

"Oh, so it's okay for _him_ to do this."

"No, it's not, that's not what I'm-" he sighed exasperatedly.

"Bones, please?"

McCoy sighed. "I'm going to regret this."

Jim grinned and started practically bouncing. "Yay! I knew you'd see reason."

McCoy grunted as he got up, already feeling a headache coming on. "If I saw reason, I wouldn't be listening to you."

6 hours later, as he once again kept up a late-night vigil by the bedside of post-op captain, he wondered why he continued putting up with this.

* * *

He frowned. And frowned. He wasn't quite sure what he felt, but he was in professional doctor-mode, and so all he could do was look at the results clinically and detachedly.

"So the official diagnosis?" he said softly, even though he didn't have to ask.

Chapel sighed. "According to all these factors in your physical screening, you've got hypertension."

He breathed in through his nose and nodded, arms still crossed.

"It seems to be primary hypertension," she continued. "Which is good in that we don't have any other major medical problems to deal with, but bad in that there's no definite cause."

"No, I know what the cause is," he said softly to himself. He felt like his words were going to come back to bite him. _You'd give any other doctor cardiac arrest._

Chapel gave him an odd look, but moved on after he shook it off. "So we form a treatment plan."

"Right. Lifestyle changes typically work. I'll program your meal card for more fruit and less salt. We can also look into relaxation techniques."

"No drinking," he added.

Chapel stared at him, bewildered. Sure, that was recommended, but for him to suggest it, s_tate_ it…

He caught her look. "What? We need to get a head start on this thing, and that means pulling every trick in the book." His face fell as he ambled past her, headed for his office, suddenly looking very old. "It's only going to get worse from here."

* * *

"Bones, you've changed."

"In what way?"

"You don't drink anymore, you hang out with Spock in his room-"

"What's wrong with hanging out with Spock?"

"Nothing! It's just, I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone around you guys now."

"Well, you'll just have to deal with it."

"Seriously, what's with you all of sudden? Since when did you like meditation?"

McCoy sighed. "Jim, meditation is a well-documented relaxation method, and Spock is the most versed member aboard in its technique. As _your_ doctor, it's a necessity."

"I don't see how that has anything to do with it."

"It _means_ Jim, that you cause me so much stress that I've been forced to turn to the Vulcan for relief."

"Oh my goodness, Bones, if it's that bad I'll call Gaila, she knows how to get _anybody_ to relax-"

McCoy felt another headache coming on. "No, Jim, it's not that simple."

"But she and you could totally-"

"Good _night_, Jim." He walked away without another word.

* * *

"Lt. Uhura."

"Dr. McCoy," she smiled as he sat down.

"I hope you don't mind the company?"

"Oh, not at all," she waved. "You don't ramble, so I believe we can both go without chit-chat quite happily."

Making a rare grin, McCoy started eating his meal. "How I wish I could impress that notion on a certain someone else."

She laughed behind her PADD. "You and me both."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for most of lunch. McCoy finished his peaches. Uhura turned a page on the PADD and went "ooh."

"Whatcha lookin' at?" McCoy inquired.

Uhura glanced at him, then looked discreetly around the mess hall. "I've been looking at the ratings for the _Hood_, one of the new post-Narada starships? Starfleet's rebuilding her fleet and so dozens of new ships are pouring out and going on their own five-year missions."

McCoy nodded, he'd been aware of that notice.

She pursed her lips, unsure whether to continue, but after sizing up the doctor she relented. "Honestly? The _Hood's_ good. Damn good. She got a late start but she's making her own progress and it's pretty extraordinary. You should see their civilization/contact records. I estimate another five months before it surpasses our own numbers."

McCoy read between the lines. "You're thinking about transferring."

She nodded.

"Why?"

Once again, she glanced around the mess hall. After deeming it clear, she looked directly at McCoy and spoke in the plainest, bluntest voice he'd ever heard.

"Kirk's an idiot."

"The nickname seems to be sticking," he mused.

"I know you're not up on the bridge a lot anymore, but you don't know the half of it. Like, maybe he means well, and maybe he sees something the rest of us don't, but I'm sorry, as a linguist and cultural expert I cringe whenever we speak with foreign civilizations."

McCoy grimaced as well. He'd been on enough landing parties to also see the result of Jim's usual… effect. It normally ended in getting chased away by a horde of offended people.

"And I know it's not my place to judge, but I feel like some of his command decisions make no sense whatsoever." She lowered her voice. "Do you remember when he promoted Chekov to Chief Engineer?"

"Oh Lord- that's one memory I try to block out."

"Sorry. But it's one example to prove my point. Who in space picks an _ensign_ on a _completely different_ track with only _one_ course in Engineering to be Chief? He's on command track, not engineering! And why not one of Scotty's right hand people? Honestly…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

"Anyways, that's just part of it. There have been other instances since then, like having a yeoman fill in for Sulu when he was sick- but it ticks me off and freaks me out all at the same time." She sighed, and looked imploringly at McCoy.

"But then I chastise myself, and that leads to the most worrisome problem. On what kind of ship does the crew second-guess their captain?"

McCoy nodded back grimly. "I see your point." Then. "Who else?"

"Oh, I don't think it's as bad as I make it sound," she smiled weakly. "Sulu's staying, I know that for sure. He loves the challenges Kirk's last-minute stunts offer a pilot. Scotty's practically married to this ship, and he doesn't strike me as the kind to cheat on a woman. Chekov might transfer, but he's so young, so such a wide range of experience is normal for him. And I think Spock will stay because he doesn't see any logical reason to leave- and he's incapable of worry."

McCoy mulled it over. That was still a good support group for Jim. It wasn't too bad.

Uhura caught his look. "What about you? You thinking of leaving, too?"

McCoy blinked and sighed. "I won't leave until I'm pushed," he answered crisply. He rose with his empty tray.

"Though he's been pushin' _real_ hard lately."

* * *

"None of the medications seem to be working," Chapel frowned. "You might have resistant hypertension."

"Told you it was going to get worse," McCoy grunted.

"Are you sure you're trying everything? Fruits and vegetables, meditation, walking around the ship-"

"Yes, Nurse, I am," he assured. "Though, we might as well stop the medication if it's not working- no sense in me using up our supplies like that."

Chapel chewed her lip but said nothing.

* * *

Another emergency surgery. McCoy was literally pumping Jim's heart with his bare hands.

"Nurse! Oxygen! M'Benga, where's that artery tube?"

Both came running at his call, and with four more hands at his aide they carefully stopped the bleeding, patched the torn heart valve, and brought Kirk back once again.

Two hours later, once the captain was patched up and stabilized, McCoy dropped down in a chair, bloody and exhausted. He felt really dizzy, but knew it was just another effect from the hypertension. It would go away as his adrenaline went down. He blearily watched Jim's vitals, and kept careful count of that heartbeat.

_Why do you keep doing this, you son of a bitch?_

He couldn't tell if he meant Jim or himself.

* * *

"Bones, are you in love with Spock?"

If McCoy had the springiness of cat he would have flown through the top of the hull. "What in God's name makes you say that?"

"It's okay, you can tell me if you are," Jim continued, unusually serious.

"No. I am not in love with Spock." He pronounced each word slowly and carefully.

"Then why have you stopped arguing with him? And started doing that meditation stuff instead?"

McCoy closed his eyes and tried to will the headache away. "I'm doing what's best for my blood pressure," he grated slowly and methodically.

After some silence, he opened his eyes to find that Jim didn't quite know what to say.

"Are you being serious?"

"Do you think I would hang out with the Vulcan for fun?"

"I dunno, that's why I asked if you two were in love."

"Please, do not ever say that again," McCoy growled.

"Are you _sure_?"

McCoy crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "What's the big idea, Jim? I've told you the truth. You don't get to decide if it's right or not."

"Oh, I know, it's not that, it's just- damn, now I owe Uhura twenty credits."

Despite himself, McCoy smirked. "You two had a betting pool?"

"Hell, Bones, I got half the ship in on it."

"You _what?!_" McCoy exploded.

"I mean, nobody could figure it out, so I suggested maybe you two were in love, and then others jumped in the bandwagon, while others disagreed, and you _were_ always going to his quarters, so-"

"_Half the ship thinks Spock and I are lovebirds?!_"

"Please, Doctor, your blood pressure," Jim joked.

"Go fuck yourself," McCoy stormed out of the room.

* * *

_Damned if I do, damned if I don't_, he mused in his quarters late one night. On the one hand, the fact that half the ship thought he and Spock were hooking up together in Spock's quarters caused one helluva headache. And it would be simple to end the rumor: terminate the meditation meetings in Spock's quarters.

But then there goes his relaxation technique.

It would eliminate a boatload of stress right off.

But then the rest of the stress would build in the meantime.

He could feel that stress, too. He first noticed it when he realized he was waking up every day tense as a tuning fork, and that the anxiety would just increase as he went about the day. His temper grew shorter as a result, and he jumped easily as surprises and loud noises. He noticed he would especially tense up whenever someone would walk into Sickbay- only to relax when he realized it wasn't Jim.

Though, when it was Jim, well…

McCoy swallowed another gulp of hot tea. He knew all this stress wasn't doing anything good for his blood pressure. He was dizzy a lot now, had constant headaches, and seemed to be slightly orthostatic- he saw dark spots most times he stood up.

"You need a vacation," he announced to his room.

Except that Jim was there on every vacation. Every shore leave involved Jim, and even if he managed a few days off on a Starbase or something, he always managed to sneak in a face-to-face comm or some other method.

He sighed. He needed more than a vacation. He needed a change in scenery.

* * *

"Jim, I repeat: do not take your shirt off."

"Why, Bones? It's so hot."

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Didn't work- the headache still arose. "Jim, did you not read the planetary survey? Exposure like that is indecent, disrespectful, and even criminal. Do not do it."

"What if we painted me yellow? They might not be able to tell the difference with those eyes, and besides it's _so_ freaking hot."

"Well, suck it up!" McCoy snapped. He wavered and closed his eyes again.

"There, you see what I mean? I'll die of heatstroke otherwise."

"You won't die of heatstroke," McCoy ground out.

Granted, the planet _was_ hot. And humid. Very humid. It was great for the vegetation and sapient inhabitants, but not for most Terrans. Only Spock seemed to be holding up okay. Everyone else had already mostly sweated through their uniforms.

And now Jim wanted to take off his shirt.

"Bones, just for a moment, behind the buildings, where no one can see! I need to feel a lick of air on my skin."

McCoy growled, grasped Jim's arm so tightly that he yelped, and hauled him into the shadows.

"Do. Not. Remove. Anything," he rumbled forcefully. He shook Jim's arm. "I mean it, Captain! We don't need another interplanetary incident under our belts. You've caused enough of them."

"Ouch, Bones, that hurt."

"Well, maybe it should!" McCoy snapped. "Spock already had to deflect your passes at the president's daughter as human courtesy- maybe you should stop playing the horny teenager and start behaving like a starship captain!"

Jim's eyes widened. "What's gotten into you all of a sudden?"

"Nothing! Nothing new, at least! I'm just trying to make sure that my captain won't get himself nearly killed, _again_, or start a government riot, _again_, or mix both into the landing party _again_." He couldn't even see Jim's face anymore. Come to think of it, when he turned his head out of the shadows, he still couldn't see anything. He couldn't bring himself to care right now. "Do you have _any idea_ how big that job is? How demanding?"

"Bones, if you want to address this, now would not be a good time," Jim hissed, noticing some of the natives looking at them.

"Of course not!" McCoy yelled. "Everything's at Jim's convenience, every activity is deemed 'cool' or 'not' by Jim's opinion, and Jim's wants come before another person's preferences and Jim doesn't care how many times you save his life or literally beat it back into his chest, he just wants you to do it again and again and agrainer, that that, darrison folexy bat baub nennit-"

Jim gripped McCoy. "Bones? _Bones?_ What the fu-?" Watching the raging doctor suddenly collapse into gibberish chilled him more than he could put words to.

McCoy lurched out of his tentative grasp and stumbled out into the street. He was wildly confused and still talking nonsense and seemed to be dragging his right foot almost uselessly. Jim started running after him, heart in his throat, when he buckled and collapsed.

"Holy shit! Bones, holy sh-" he raced down and turned the doctor over, gut clenching at the sweat pouring down the paled face.

"_Enterprise!_ Beam us up! And I needed a medical team _yesterday_!"

* * *

Jim paced back and forth in Sickbay. He didn't know how long Bones was back there. He didn't particularly want to know.

The doors opened and Spock strode in, as cool and silent as ever. He stood for a moment, watching Jim pace, before coming to the obvious conclusion.

"He is not out of surgery?"

"No," Jim answered curtly. "I don't know how much longer it'll be."

Spock said nothing, but merely nodded his head serenely.

"How are you so calm?" Jim blurted. "Every part of me is freaking out here, but I don't have any kind of action to channel it- just waiting," he broke off suddenly.

"It's unbearable."

"Perhaps you should consider that this is how the doctor feels every time you start recovering from surgery," Spock said smoothly.

"Spock, that happens pretty much all the time."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

"He's probably used to it."

"On the contrary," the Vulcan continued. "Do you think you could ever get used to this?"

Jim cringed. "No way."

"Why should you expect Dr. McCoy to be any different?"

Jim open and closed his mouth. Spock, satisfied that he'd given the man something else to think about, glided around him and stood by the door as the nurses and doctors started trickling out.

"What's the word?" Jim asked Chapel urgently.

She tried to glare at him, but was too tired to make the effort. "Leonard's had a stroke," she said quietly. "We've fixed it now, but it's no surprise it's happened."

"No surprise, what do you mean no surprise?" he fired quickly.

"We could see it coming. Even Leonard. That's why we already had the materials ready; they've been out for a few weeks now."

"If you could see it coming, why didn't you stop it?" he demanded. "You could have prevented this-"

"Captain," Chapel interrupted softly, but sharply. "We _were_ taking steps. We were doing everything. Leonard stopped drinking, we adjusted his diet, we set up routine meditation with Spock, though he had to cancel that due to some _unsightly_ rumors- the only big thing that might have prevented this all together was something Leonard was not about to do."

"What was that?" Jim asked quietly.

Chapel looked him in the eye. "Leave."

Jim almost choked. "Leave the _Enterprise_?"

"Removal of stress. Would certainly help his hypertension go down. And he may have to leave now, anyways, for medical reasons. If he stays it's just going to get even worse."

"But, how, I mean, we don't go to too many hot planets-" he broke off at Chapel's confused look.

"Oh. No, it wasn't heat stroke. It was a normal stroke caused by high blood pressure. Dr. McCoy's had hypertension for the past two months."

"He never told me that," Jim echoed.

"On the contrary, I believe he's mentioned high blood pressure to you on multiple occasions," Spock said dryly.

Jim swallowed. "Can I go see him?"

Chapel mulled it over, unsure. But he seemed morose enough. "Yes. Though if he gets agitated you'll have to leave."

He nodded. "Understood."

He plodded into the ward and over to the figure on the biobed. McCoy was sleeping at a comfortable incline, still hooked up to a few monitors Jim had never seen before.

He gulped. "Bones? Can you hear me? Wait, no don't answer that, I don't want to wake you up…" he trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

Damn, how _did_ McCoy manage to do this over and over? Jim felt like his heart was about to break.

"I don't want to lose you," he murmured.

"Jush shleepin', no' dyin'," slurred a tired reply.

Jim jumped. "You're alive!"

"Yeah. Di'n' Shapel tell ya?

"She did, but, it was scary watching you…" he sighed.

"Ya. Don'. Ge' ushed. Tuh I't." McCoy labored over each word.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

"Jush peachy."

"You're not talking too good."

McCoy mustered enough strength to glare at him. Jim could clearly read the _whyddaya think?_ vibes coming off of him.

"Bones, do you want to leave?" he changed the subject timidly.

That movement might have been a shrug. " 'll depend if 'mrrcovery needsh it."

"Will you come back if it does?"

McCoy's silence was also worrying. "That alsho depend."

"Please don't go."

McCoy let out a long sigh. "At thish point, I truly can't make any promishes."

* * *

Recovery for the next week was steady. He worked on his speech until he stopped slurring, and his walking was getting better. He couldn't tactilely feel much on his right side, but with some nerve stimulations it was gradually coming back. He still needed a cane, though, to help his right foot wake up, and since he still got fatigued quickly.

M'Benga and he had spoken extensively about whether or not to take a month's absence on medical leave. Despite everything, he was still on the fence about it.

"Give me a couple days checked out of Sickbay, and if the normal environment isn't too much, then I'll stay. Otherwise, I'll step off at the next Starbase."

So now he was back in his own quarters, wondering about what to do. On the one hand, he couldn't do any surgeries, not with his fingers still regaining their sensitivity, so he certainly wouldn't be earning his keep. What did he tell Jim every time after he got out of Sickbay?  
_Stay out of your job; recovery's all you're good for right now._

No shame in taking some time off while still on the ship. He did just have a stroke, after all. No one would blame him.

What would he do?

Besides recover.

He grabbed his cane and started walking down to the rec room, to see what activities were in swing. He was ambling down- making good time, too, he noticed- when a familiar voice called around the corridor.

"Bones!"

Briefly, he wondered if he should pretend he didn't hear and pass it off as aftereffects of the stroke. Too late for that, though. As Jim caught up with him he automatically turned his head.

"Wanna stop and talk?"

He grunted. "Built up momentum- heading for the rec room."

Jim seemed confused, but quickly caught on when he realized McCoy wasn't stopping.

"Okay, rec room, that's cool," he nodded.

"Glad you approve," he muttered.

"Bones, seriously."

McCoy sighed. "I know, I know."

They continued on in some more silence.

"So, what's it like with the cane?" Jim asked.

"It's a new normal."

"I hope not. You're, what, in your early forties and you already have a cane? That's not a good sign, Bones."

"You have an astounding lack of tact," McCoy responded listlessly.

"Right. And now that you're on the mend we can go back to saving the universe!"

McCoy sighed.

"Remember what I always talked about at the Academy? You and me, on a starship, side-by-side. I'm introducing new worlds to the Federation, and you're curing their plagues and other ills in a great humanitarian effort."

"When in reality you manage to tick them off and I end up gluing you back together," McCoy said suddenly, almost surprised.

"Just like the good ol' Academy days at various bars. Yup."

McCoy suddenly stopped and faced him, like he was looking at a stranger. "You never went through the ranks."

"Beg pardon?" Jim asked.

"They promoted you from cadet straight to captain."

Jim grinned. "Best day of my life."

McCoy tried to figure what rank Jim would be now had he followed the normal route. Lieutenant? Ensign? Now _there_ was a terrifying thought.

No wonder Uhura was uncomfortable.

"But Bones, in all seriousness, I'm glad you're okay. Now we can go back to-"

"Back to what?" McCoy still spoke as if he was in the process of gradually making a new discovery. "Back to scraping you off the ground and breathing life back into your organs?"

"There aren't many others who can do that. You're special."

"Maybe I am, but I wouldn't know it." He looked at Kirk, awe spreading across his features.

"Have you ever listened to my advice?" he said. "All those times I told you not to do something dangerous, all those times I told you how to recover from your injuries- did you ever think that maybe I said those things for a reason?"

Jim shifted. "Well, Bones…"

"And even when you behaved it wasn't because of me. It was because it happened to fit in with what you wanted, whether that was to impress a girl, or 'have fun', I don't know. And the times I'd rather relax on the ship with a drink or discovery you didn't listen and dragged me down to go bar-hopping with you. You always did what _you_ wanted to do and ignored anything I had to say about it."

"Well, that's our roles, Bones. I get to be the idiot, and you get to be the grump who gripes when I screw up-"

"-except that we're not in the Academy anymore. We're on a starship and we don't have that luxury. We've got to own up, listen up, _think_ before we act and choose the best possible decision based on all the information and angles we have." He was surprised at how calm he sounded, if slightly amazed.

"I… I know that."

"Really? Because it doesn't look like that from where I'm standing." McCoy met Kirk's eyes. "Have you ever once, since the start of this mission, respected my wishes?"

Kirk opened his mouth…

… and closed it, trying to think.

McCoy's voice softened. "Jim, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to take a month of medical leave. I want no contact with the ship during that time, because I'm going to focus on recovering and relaxing _my way_. And then, once that month is over, I'm going to check in with the _Enterprise_, evaluate the situation, and decide from there. If things are the same- I'll stay away for good. If the professionalism has improved, then I'll see about coming back. But Jim," he looked pointedly at the other man.

"That choice is not in my hands."

* * *

Five days later they docked at a starbase orbiting a lovely temperate planet. McCoy clutched his suitcase in one hand for leave, and his cane in the other. Strangely, he felt none of the trepidation as was usual when he climbed onto the transporter pad.

"Enjoy your time off, Doctair," Scotty called from the console. "An' get better soon."

He nodded. "Thank you, Scotty."

He materialized onto the starbase, and greeted the base commander. He went through the formal paperwork, dropped his things off in his reserved quarters, checked the calendar for his appointment with the base doctor the next day, and walked back to the transporter room.

Beaming down onto the planet, his shoulders melted as he felt the sun on his skin. A breeze blew in his face thanks to the open doors of the receiving transporter station, and, gripping the cane loosely, he walked outside. With each step he could feel the tension sliding off his shoulders, and the anxiety rolling off his body. A light smile playing on his face, he moved out into the daylight.


End file.
